Freckles and Broomsticks
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: A collection of unrelated drabbles and one shots revolving around Percy/Oliver. For the OTP Boot Camp Challenge
1. Young

A/N: The fics will jump around as far as time is concerned. Also, the relationship will change around, depending how the prompt inspires me.

They were young, barely into their first year at Hogwarts, and innocent. When Percy wasn't looking, Oliver would steal little glances, counting freckles on the other boy's skin, praying he wouldn't be caught staring.

He knew he fancied the fussy, bossy redhead within minutes of their first hello. There was something about him that Oliver found intriguing, that sent a flurry of fluttering butterflies banging about inside his stomach. It felt like falling. It was the knowledge that the crash was inevitable but holding on to the high it brought as he tumbled down.

Not that Oliver would ever voice what he felt. He was young and infatuated. Percy Weasley was just a crush, just curiosity at its finest. That's would they would tell him if they knew. After all, eleven was too young to be so sure of what he wanted.

So the boy contented himself with stolen glances, never knowing that, when Oliver looked away, Percy would watch him too, praying not to get caught.


	2. Thunder

"Merlin," Percy whispered to himself as the rumble of thunder filled the night air, rattling the dormitory windows.

As long as he could remember, Percy had hated bad weather. Even now, in his final year at Hogwarts, the Head Boy found himself trembling as violent sheets of rain pounded against the glass.

Pushing his glasses onto his face, Percy tiptoed over to the bed beside his, nudging the snoring figure beneath the sheets. "Hey, Wood?"

"Hrm?" The Quidditch Captain's voice was heavy with sleep.

"Can I sleep with you?"

At that, Oliver opened his eyes, blinking several times. "What?"

"I don't like bad weather."

A fresh wave of thunder boomed, causing Percy to jump. With a blush burning his freckled face, he cleared his throat. "It scares me," he admitted sheepishly.

Oliver's face softened, the traces of confusion and annoyance vanishing by the innocence of the admission. "Sure thing, Perce."

Relieved, Percy placed his glasses on the bedside table and crawled beneath the sheets, pleasantly surprised when Oliver's arms wrapped protectively around him.


	3. Fear

This wasn't like him. Oliver Wood was calm, cool, not the bundle of nerves and trembling flesh he saw in the mirror before him.

"You can do this," he told himself, speaking in the same voice he used when addressing his team before a big match. "You've got this."

But when he pulled away from the reflective surface, the Keeper felt the jolt of fear, white hot in the pit of his stomach. His plan could fail miserably. He could come off as a bloody prat. Or worse.

"I can do this," he murmured again, trying to shake off the panic that clung to his restless, uneasy mind.

Three words, three syllables. It should be easy to spit them out, to confess.

As Oliver started from the dormitory, Percy bustled in, colliding with the Keeper. "Sorry, terribly sorry!" the redhead gasped, straightening his striped tie. "I- Are you ill, Oliver?"

"No. I- What?"

With a concerned frown, Percy stepped closer, eyes squinting slightly as he looked Oliver over. "You're shaking and sweating. The flu is going around, of course. Madame Pomfrey will fix you up in a jiffy!"

"Perce, I'm fine!"

"Now, now. No need to worry, Wood," Percy insisted.

Before Oliver could protest, he found himself in Percy's iron grip, being lead along like a small child, his swears and grumbles falling on deaf ears.


	4. Nightmare

Percy tossed and turned beneath the sheets, hands lifted as though to push someone away. In sleep, he was redeeming himself. But it was too late.

Behind the young wizard's eyelids, his family fell one by one. Their wide, dead eyes no longer saw the Death Eaters that towered over their lifeless bodies with cries of victory. It was over. Percy lost his chance to fix things with the family he so sorely missed.

Mouth open in a silent scream, Percy bolted upright, chest heaving rapidly with shaky breath. Cold sweat glistened from his fear-paled face, mixing with tears he wasn't aware of shedding.

"Perce?" Oliver spoke in a groggy voice, slurred by the sleep he had been dragged from, but the concern was obvious. "Nightmares again?"

Without a word, trembling as he willed the images of his fallen family, Percy nodded. Just a dream. A bad, horrible dream, but nonetheless, it wasn't real. Still, Percy wrapped his arms around himself, as though he could physically keep himself from falling apart.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the Keeper asked, sitting up.

Shaking his head, Percy slumped against his boyfriend's body, head resting on Oliver's shoulder. A single choked sob escaped. "I want to go home."


	5. Lost

His palms splayed against the the slick shower wall, a groan escaping his throat. It was the first time in years that Oliver had felt genuinely frustrated.

The match had been theirs. They had been so close.

"Bloody dementors!" he hissed, kicking the shower wall.

Wood entertained the idea of drowning himself there for just a brief moment. He had failed the team, failed his House. This was his last year to win it all, and his efforts were swirling down the drain.

OoOoO

Percy was waiting for him in the surprisingly empty common room. The team was visiting the Harry while the rest of the House recovered from the humiliating defeat.

"You were brilliant."

Brown eyes rolling, Oliver snorted. Typical Perce. Smart as anything but dead stupid when it came to Quidditch. "We lost, Perce," he sighed, head hanging pitifully.

Percy tucked two fingers beneath Oliver's chin, forcing the Keeper to look up. "Still a winner in my eyes," he said, placing a shy kiss on Wood's lips.


	6. Sin

They walked through the streets of Muggle London, hand in hand. Percy's slender frame pressed lightly against Oliver's body, keeping close as they moved through a crowd. The two were inseparable and oh so happy to be together. Small glances were exchanged; the shy little looks only young, new lovers could share.

Many of the surrounding Muggles didn't seem to share their happiness. Whispers filled the air as they passed, the word "sin" thrown out along with rude names for the seventeen year olds.

The words rolled right off. This wasn't Oliver and Percy's world, this place of prejudice that rivaled even the most the bigoted of purebloods. Their words could do no harm.

Heads high and smiles in place, the wizards carried on, deaf to the cruel words spat behind them.


	7. Want

A/N: Oh gosh. I'm sorry it's taken so long to update. Forgive me? Say you'll forgive me.

"You're going to lose everything," Wood said. "Is that what you want?"

His voice was level. Percy wished that Oliver would yell, would lose control. Maybe then he'd have something other than silence as a response.

"You left your family. No, abandoned is better word. How do I know you won't do it to me?" Oliver continued.

Percy looked up, eyes wide in surprise. "I would never..."

The Keeper scoffed, arms folding over his chest. "Why not?"

"You're all I have left," the redhead whispered.

"And whose fault is that?" Again, Oliver's tone was light, lacking accusation and sharpness.

Percy slumped against his boyfriend, burying his face pitifully in Oliver's chest. "I didn't want it to be like this." 


	8. Patience

Sharing a flat with Percy Weasley was a lesson in patience. It took Oliver roughly five minutes to discover that it would be nothing like their Hogwarts days.

"You actually live in this?" Percy gasped, straightening the tablecloth in the kitchen, shaking his head.

"Yes," Oliver said irritably.

Percy clucked his tongue, rambling on about what needed to be tidied, how horribly cluttered the place was, how he needed a clear, neat space to think about reports. Meanwhile, Oliver leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he tried to remain composed.

Oliver loved Percy. Really, he did. He already knew how anal the other boy could be, but it did nothing to prepare him. Oliver knew that if he didn't learn patience quickly, he'd probably strangle Perce. 


	9. Calm

Percy's face paled, eyes growing wide. He willed himself to stay calm, not to freak out or faint. How unflattering that would be.

Oliver had just said those three words. Those three words that everyone longed to hear. Those words that held such sweet promises.

"I'm sorry," the Keeper sighed, pushing a hand through his fair hair. "I rushed. You don't have to say it back."

Percy looks at him in shock. Was there really just a hint of worry in Oliver's voice? Now, Percy really did need to stay calm.

"But I want to," he whispered. "I love you, Oliver." 


	10. Helpless

Broken. It's the only word Oliver can use to describe Percy as he watches Percy stand over Fred's lifeless body. Percy is broken, torn to pieces by loss and guilt.

Oliver wants to hold him, to tell him everything will be okay. But he knows it's a lie. This isn't the sort of thing a person can truly recover from.

He feels helpless, knowing there isn't a damn thing he can do. This is one wound he can't kiss better, one tragedy that words and promises can never heal. 


	11. Breathless

Percy had never given much thought to what his first kiss might be like. Even if he had, he probably wouldn't have thought it'd be with a very drunk Oliver Wood, that it would taste like firewhiskey.

But, as Oliver's lips work against his, he can't complain, can't find even a speck of disappointment. Sloppy and awkward as it is, Percy finds himself breathless and craving more.

OoOoO

Percy expects things to be awkward when Oliver wakes up beside him, groaning and muttering about hangovers. But the Keeper gives him a lazy grin. "Morning, Perce."

Unfazed by the predicament, Oliver leans in and kisses him. This is kiss is softer, sweeter, and much neater than the night before. And yet Percy is still left struggling to catch his breath. 


	12. Morbid

Oliver wants to kill Flint, and he's quite vocal about the matter. "Bloody bastard," he grumbles into his orange juice. "I'd like to strangle him. No, knock him off his broom. Easier to make it look like an accident."

Percy sighs, giving his boyfriend a tired look. "Really, Oliver. Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"No," Oliver says dryly. "Not at all. If only I played Beater. Send a Bludger at his head."

"Your fascination with murdering him is, well, morbid," the prefect says, shaking his head. "Not to mention acting on it is illegal."

Oliver frowns, pondering this for a moment. "Does this mean you wouldn't visit me in Azkaban?"

"No, I wouldn't."

After a few seconds of silent consideration, Oliver shrugs. "I'll behave. But, at least I can dream."

"Dreaming of Flint?" Percy questions, lifting a brow. "Should I be jealous?"

"Oh, shut up." 


	13. Eternity

It's just Quidditch practice. Puddlemere usually goes for hours, and all Percy has to do is wait in the flat. Oliver will return, just as he always does. They'll fall into the same old routine of dinner, catching up on household tasks, showers, and bed.

Percy knows it will happen, that it won't be much longer. Still, he glances at the clock, groaning when he realizes only four minutes have passed since the last time he's checked.

He tries to distract himself, searching desperately for anything to do. A few books to return to their shelves, a little dusting here and there, an intriguing article on a promising new use for bat wing bones.

Another glance at the clock reveals that he's only killed fifteen minutes. One hour and twelve minutes left, but, to Percy, it feels like an eternity.  



	14. Drawn

"Have you been doodling in your Potions book?" Percy gasps, clearly horrified as he notices the little scratches of ink.

Oliver rolls his eyes, too used to Percy's ridiculous reactions over the smallest things. He shrugs, moving his quill over the pages. "Snape is dead boring," he says simply, offering a crooked grin. "Besides, I think you'll like what I've drawn."

He hands the book over to Percy who frowns. The prefect adjusts the angle this way and that before shaking his head. "I don't get it."

Oliver sighs, moving closer. "That's me," he says, pointing to the poorly drawn stick figure. "And that's you. I'm whisking you away on my broomstick."

Percy squints, moving his face closer to the page. "I still don't see it."

Oliver heaves an exasperated sigh, snatching his textbook away. "You clearly have no appreciation for art." 


	15. Acrid

Percy opens the door to the flat and nearly chokes. He covers his mouth and nose with his robes, trying to block out the acrid black smoke that swirls within the air, engulfing everything.

Between coughs, he manages to clear the air with a spell. When it's safe, he uncovers his face and ventures deeper into the room. "Oliver?"

He finds his boyfriend in the kitchen, by the stove. Oliver has a pot of something going, and he's swearing loudly and fluently.

"Are you trying to die from carbon monoxide poisoning?" Percy sighs.

The Keeper looks up, frustration written all over his face. "I was cooking dinner," he snaps.

Percy has to smile. Oliver is so used to being good at things he sets his mind to. His determination is something they share and exactly why Percy first fell in love with him.

He moves to Oliver's side, glancing down at the unidentifiable charred remains of whatever had gotten the better of his boyfriend. "Perhaps soup would be better," he suggests softly. 


	16. Letter

Oliver pulls Percy closer, his finger tracing the letter on the boy's badge. "P is for Percy," he chuckles.

Percy rolls his eyes. "That's not what it means, and you know it," he says flatly, his usual humorless self.

Oliver isn't bothered. He continues tracing over and over, unable to fight a smile. "P is for-"

"Prefect," the other interrupts in annoyance.

"Wrong. Come on, Perce. You're supposed to be brilliant."

The redhead groans and closes his eyes. Oliver always manages to win these little moments between them. "What does it stand for, then?"

"P is for perfect. Perfect Percy, the prefect." 


	17. Watch

A/N1: I've decided to make my life easier and combine this collection with the Slash/Femmslash Boot Camp. Which means even more Percy/Oliver.

A/N2: Shameless plug. Beginning in 2013, each week I will give someone the gift of a drabble collection or oneshot. If you'd like a gift, PM me your name, favorite characters and pairings, and prompts, and I'll add you to the list.

Sometimes, Percy will stay up at night and watch Oliver as he sleeps beside him. He's afraid, so very afraid, that if he closes his eyes, he will wake up, and it will all have been a dream. He's never been good enough for Oliver. Surely it's impossible that the Keeper is there, still in love with such an awkward, uptight man.

Oliver stirs, eyes peeking open. "Go to sleep, Perce," he mumbles, tugging Percy down.

Percy collapses beside him, his head resting on Oliver's chest. Oliver is solid, sturdy. He isn't a dream, some schoolboy fantasy that lives in Percy's head.

Smiling to himself, the redhead closes his eyes, curling closer to his lover. 


End file.
